TO STANDING ROCK A NURSE
FROM STANDING ROCK A PROTECTOR
Personal reflections from 6 days at Oceti Sakowin Camp
Disclaimer: I can only write based on my own personal and historical perspective. Nothing can adequately prepare us for every effort made to change the world through collective action. I resolved before arriving at Standing Rock to learn the basic guidelines laid out by the hosts, recognize and own the fact that I am a white trespasser, embrace the confusion and discomfort, and struggle on. Because I have long been moved by Lakota art and spirituality, the tension between my desire to learn and avoid cultural theft started with the pumpkin carving I posted on this site weeks ago.
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The following is a thoroughly incomplete examination begun at Standing Rock, that continues now at every turn:
- To take every opportunity to aid the protectors still on or near the frontlines, knowing that the environment is ever-changing and the toll of the weather, the influx of new allies and the constant need for education leaves little time for adequate self-care and produces new trauma
- To search for ways to spread awareness and collect documentation about the abuses and brutality of law enforcement and those in the employ of DAPL, including off-duty police officers and military contractors
- To share knowledge gained while at Oceti Sakowin to educate and counsel patients on the adult psych unit in which I work as an RN
- As a community member that attempts to build bridges between my mostly white family and circle of closest friends and Native-led efforts in my area
- To fully acknowledge and reconcile the ongoing cultural genocide that through ignorance, I am always at risk of perpetuating
- To take care of my family and my self, and in the search for healing, honor my limitations and resources, to apologize and to forgive
I have too much to write next. Before embarking upon part two of this effort I wanted to at least circulate the writing I did while still in North Dakota. I preface this by admitting that my reflections about ancestors glossed over matriarchs like my brilliant grandmothers, one that died before I was born and the other too soon after, both historians who might have been a great resource in my current effort. I also acknowledge that I do not share the level of ignorance that allows the Bismarck Airport gift shop to be devoid of any Native imagery, in a state named North Dakota.
“Our ancestors are always with us; they are just waiting to be asked to help”
Don Coyhis (Mohican)
SELF-REFLECTION: Day 2 at Oceti Sakowin Camp, Standing Rock
Yesterday, I observed Sioux warriors and veterans of the US armed forces standing and praying before the blockade near Oceti Camp, a drone hovering feet above their heads. I learned before I arrived to be comfortable with not knowing. Being unsure whether the drone was weaponized, DAPL surveillance or owned by people at the camp was beyond unnerving. I’m still uncertain. So I honored the veterans. And I contemplated my own ancestors.
My great, great grandfather Norwood Penrose Hallowell, a Quaker, was an officer with all-Black regiments in the Civil War. His son taught his children about animal totems. My great, great aunt's family became the Turtles; My grandfather, and by extension, me, the Bears. Though his son served in the US Navy, neither Grandpa Bear nor his son were spared by McCarthyism. My uncle served prison time when he pleaded the first amendment, for he maintained that he could not incriminate himself for speech and associations that were anything but criminal.
My mother was the fifth child and just as her family became the Hounds when she married my father, I found my own family's totem when I married my wife Ayala, which is Hebrew for Gazelle. As I reflect on my ancestors, I cannot help but think of the third Gazelle, my first child Gavriella. She left this earth nearly four years ago at the age of four. I often wonder what totem Gavi would have chosen. Thankfully, I have been uplifted in this moment of grief and exhilaration by the practitioners with whom I am trying to make myself useful.
I heard some wisdom yesterday at the sacred fire. I heard, "People say children are our future. The children are our present too."
For me, there is more. Your own child should not be an ancestor, but Gavriella is mine. She utterly changed my family’s life and taught me so much. She is still very much with me, with Ayala and with our first son, Yadid Rafa, Hebrew for Blessed Healer. They both longed to come here with me. While I am here, I send healing thoughts to my youngest Reuben, who is suffering from the Coxsackie virus, and love to them all.
Children teach us and transform us. Each one is our past, for this Earth changed the moment they came to us; Our present, for their needs, their existence cannot be neglected; And our future, as the transformation never ends.
During the Veteran’s Day March, a man whose name I never caught, dubbed me He Whose Horse Faces West, because I carried the Hobby Horse Yadid sent with me to give to the School at the camp. I inquired what a horse looking west sees.
“The future."
The horse must have faced South as I watched the Veterans’ prayers on the near end of the blockaded bridge; North as I watched an eagle fly along the Missouri from the DAPL site to above Oceti Camp; and East as I returned to camp for a day of learning and labor. And to give the school Yadid’s gift.
My cousin Nicole is a doctor and a gifted musician who hopes to be here before too long. She celebrated her marriage this year to a remarkable man, himself a veteran, an artist and a peace activist. They chose as their totem the Blue Herons. Nicole recorded a song that the Bears have sung for years, The Grey Funnel Line. After a long and inspirational day of work at Oceti camp, this song, about a melancholy sailor in the British Royal Navy, sounded like it was about a slave ship, in her haunting rendition.
Something connected for me, and I wrote this adaptation, dedicated to Standing Rock, these people here, those allies that long to be here, and the hope that we will someday overcome.
The Black Serpent Line, adapted by Oliver Bassett
Don't mind the cold, or the northwest breeze
The weary nights never worry me
But the highest price the protectors pay
Is to watch this snake grow night and day
It's one more day across the Black Serpent Line
Guns and drones, brutality
Another prison, our hearts are free
But give us wings, eagle and dove
And we'd fly above them for this Earth we love
It's one more day across the Black Serpent Line
Oh Lord if dreams were only real
We'd lay our hands on that serpent's tail
And together, we'd shut it down
And sing high praise to sacred ground
It's one more day across the Black Serpent Line
We'll rise again like we all must do
Until red waters turn to blue
Then we'll dance on down that river shore
And work for justice forevermore
It's one more day across the Black Serpent Line
SELF-REFLECTION: Day 4 at Oceti Sakowin Camp, Standing Rock
I don't know exactly where to begin. Forgive me if this letter is disjointed, it's very hard not to think circularly, as everything I experience and witness overlaps in complex ways. I wish an editor could help me out here, but I'll take time to edit myself once I leave. I need to account for my own emotional and physical stress and allow for some sloppy writing.
First off, one of the most basic principles of orientation to this struggle is to "Come correct". That means to recognize the settler dynamics and to embrace your own roots. We are allies if we at least are mindful that we are trespassing. It pissed me off when I see tourists that think they are activists taking pictures from the top of burial mounds. But I know I am still a novice when it comes to this. The young Lakota men and women in charge of security are absurdly overworked with routine stuff and monitoring the actions of DAPL. They should not have to waste time telling people the protocols that are easily available online. People that don't take the time to prepare at all should really stay at home.
I devoted my writing about my first day to responding to my own family story, but it is a work in progress. I still need to dig into the fact that I descend from not just abolitionists, but slave-holders and profiteers, and many more that were neither protagonists nor antagonists in the oppression of people of color, but were passive and privileged as I have been for most of my life. Although reflecting on my own history helps me to contemplate the experience of people witnessing their sacred lands again torn apart, there is no symmetry. This area has been used for aviation and chemical warfare testing for decades. Eminent domain is used as a weapon of mass destruction. Those who act as allies now follow a long lineage of peace treaties since violated.
I've primarily worked in the medic tent. I did spend four hours building latrines my first day and will spend a little more time helping prepare art for direct action today. In addition to helping with triage and occasional ad lib grief and trauma counseling, my main task has been to just be available for whatever grunt work is necessary. The medic tent relocated to a beautiful yurt today. To illustrate how much cultural education is involved in participating here, these yurts are yet another non-Lakota cultural resource in camp. Just as I learned to throw sage on the fire with the left hand, one is supposed to enter yurts with the right foot. Needless to say, I've made a point of not correcting indigenous people on that front. For one thing, I have yet to learn with which foot you are supposed to exit.
The move gave us an opportunity to organize and inventory the supplies, but even as we try to move, sort and store items, we have to contend with an influx of new donations. I have not been as involved with establishing the care space itself as there is always the danger of just getting in the way when more experienced providers are busy helping patients. So when I have a moment to relax I sit and talk with patients in need of basic first aid and therapeutic support.
Hopefully we can improve coordination between camps and online. Many donations go to Oceti Sakowin camp because we are closest to the pipeline, but supplies are needed elsewhere as well. When we get donations of which we have a surplus, that requires scarce labor resources. I have taken to advising those dropping off donations in person to contribute some of their time to the integration of those or other donations. Folks donating remotely could help by checking for updates on wish lists, emailing coordinators (who are often too busy to respond with minutiae), streamlining their packages and providing packing slips. [Ed: For all the cumbersome surpluses, there is desperate demand everywhere.] Until we have more available licensed providers, getting albuterol, antibiotics and prednisone to patients in need is a major challenge. Anyone interested in devoting themselves to logistics would be invaluable, but you need to be on the ground as things constantly change. I could probably write a short novel about the subject, but let's just say, I have been heavily involved in trying to brainstorm solutions.
Continuity of care is a major concern. From a mental health perspective, it is trying for those receiving care to establish trust, disclose their trauma and follow up with a constantly shifting pool of providers that have no documentation to rely on. I have met some phenomenal medics and healers. Doctors and nurses are generally not licensed to practice in North Dakota, though at least one nurse practitioner I've met is going to resolve that and return. We often need to follow leadership from the EMTs and non-Western providers. Folks work endlessly trying to adapt to changing circumstances, provide for routine care and injuries, and all the while, the providers contend with their own stress about allies facing danger on the front lines. The horizontal structure works well on a local level, but there is always the friction of an infinite number of opinions on how to do things. And so we triage the shortcomings and focus on acute care for those that are there for a short stay.
The local population and other indigenous people that have travelled here are met with an enormous, but constantly shifting infusion of a diverse group of outsiders, some well prepared to integrate into camp culture, some less so. A huge amount of energy goes into the education and patience required for this project, and so many Native peoples are generous to that end. But there are local problems that surpass anything you are likely to witness in Brookline or JP. Diabetes, chronic respiratory infections, trauma related mental health issues, extreme poverty, alcoholism, the list is endless. Being an ally requires walking a razors edge between neglectful self-absorption and patronizing appropriation. Folks are asked to be mindful of how much they give and take. The heroin addict or schizophrenic that comes here to work and recover is welcome. The privileged outsider visiting for the weekend that blows off orientation, yells fuck the police, chain-smokes while throwing butts into sacred fires and spends half the day lingering around the energy healer circle is not so welcome.
We are told to never linger in the entrance to a tipi or other space. Access to care for the people that have been here longest are the priority. There is an understandable distrust of the institutions that should provide services developed over centuries. The contributions of diverse providers and resources is potentially very helpful but logistically fraught with the same inconsistencies that breed distrust of local providers, even those that likely have benevolent motivations. Even between providers at the four camps, there is resentment, lags in communication, and unequal distribution. Making time to resolve the global issues is limited, as even the people most experienced and knowledgeable within the ally community must come and go. Having been here a short time, I cannot see what goes on behind the scenes but I trust that other outsiders and local elders are in communication about how to continually resolve the larger problems.
Those that risk arrest and violence on the front lines aren't the only ones in peril. The climate is both incredibly supportive and hostile. The euphoria of this experience and emotional intensity is exhausting and due to the burden of work and urgency of the cause, people are prone to make little time to be alone and process. The cold and the need to prepare for colder weather leaves people sleep-deprived. The stress of the election results mingles with the stress of longer historical injustices. People are both engaged intellectually and as activists and laborers. Hence, the work is never done.
These extremes create vulnerabilities to PTSD and respiratory infections in particular. Drones and helicopters fly overhead day and night. The locals know how to distinguish friendly drones from DAPL drones, but for me this is jarring enough. I'm not the only one here that is less exposed to institutional violence and militarized response. Many veterans have allied themselves with the struggle, several of them indigenous. There are also activists here that have long histories of confrontations with enforcement, here and abroad. The history of military testing on reservation land logically breeds an expectation that DAPL security or elements of the police and armed forces could potentially escalate the violence in horrific ways. For many, the thought of Obama being replaced with Trump makes that fear more extreme.
Conversely, many here are looking for signs of hope wherever they find them. For every person that cannot forgive the actions of racists and those protecting the pipeline, I've met another who searches for signs that many will refuse to acquiesce. Those that follow the situation from afar are as vital as those on the front line when they challenge the centers of power, monitor government and legal response and communicate with activists here.
POSTSCRIPT: As mentioned before, the above is incomplete and imperfect. Had I to write this all over again, I would have mentioned that interpersonal gripes are the natural byproduct of creative, intelligent, earnest people trying to collectively do unbelievable things coming from divergent yet valid perspectives.
One thing that I have observed since returning: When you prepare honestly and with humility, you can find serendipity at every turn. Do not lose heart. The future is as unwritten as the mysterious past we need to preserve.